When my partner and I got together in the summer of 2020, after 13 years of friendship, it took us some time to transition into the realm of lovers and partners, into a divine union.
If there were moments that caught us off guard, we would always come back to laughter, our default setting, which would always diffuse any weirdness (usually from me freaking out). After years of my own heartbreak and making some questionable choices in love, everything felt like it was finally falling into place and making sense.
Within two weeks of physically getting together, I knew we had conceived. I’m so in tune with my body that I knew the moment it happened. It was as if all the stars had aligned for this magical moment. At 37 and 42, we were consciously and spiritually ready to bring a little star being into the world.
My feelings were confirmed when I took a pregnancy test only one day after my cycle was due. It read positive, and we looked in disbelief and surprise, yet knowing that we had created this, that we had consciously called it in. We had no idea it would actually happen so quickly! But here we were, after only four weeks of being together, now pregnant.
Initially I felt shocked. Then excited. Then neutral. I’d only just started getting used to the idea of being together with my best mate, let alone having a child with him. It felt like a beautiful blessing from the stars. As if a soul couldn’t wait to come down and choose us as parents. We felt honoured and started preparing ourselves in all ways.
In the weeks and months following the positive test, I had many dreams in which a baby boy visited me and gave me messages. He was always reassuring me that I was going to be such a good mama, that we were super abundant, and I could feel the immense and deep love that we shared for each other.
And then there were days when I felt overwhelmed and all the “normal” fears were arising at the thought of becoming a mother. Could I cope? Could I financially support this journey? How could I possibly push a baby out of me?! Some days, I could also feel myself falling into the collective fears and uncertainties as we were still living through a global pandemic. I learned how to observe more. Trust more. This year, 2020, was some kind of crazy, beautiful roller coaster. The fears felt real, yet I knew everything would be okay, because everything always is.
Around six weeks into the pregnancy, I went for a check-up. I wanted to confirm the baby was actually in there, and growing, as my pregnancy symptoms were pretty sporadic. Some days, it felt quite intense; other days felt easy, and I felt really lucky to be experiencing a fairly easy first trimester.
The scan showed our little baby peanut. The doctor found the heartbeat, and as I witnessed this little miracle inside me, I heard myself saying, “Hey you, there you are, I know you.” All the craziness that was going on in life just disappeared for a moment. It was bliss. It was pure magic.
We started getting excited, and even though they say you shouldn’t share with anyone until after 12 weeks, we couldn’t help sharing with some family and close friends. It was a time of excitement, and we felt blessed to be supported throughout the journey, no matter how it turned out.
Little did we know that only two weeks later, our life would turn upside down again.
The doctor asked me to return around week seven to eight. The baby wasn’t growing, and this time, she couldn’t find the heartbeat. At first, I wasn’t scared—our baby felt like a fighter; he’d be okay. I’d been connecting with him every day and singing mantras and preparing myself as best as I could.
But as she continued the scan, she said she could see blood around the baby and that I should prepare myself for a miscarriage.
My heart sank as I eased my vulnerable body off the chair. Tears were falling silently behind my mask as I tried to hide my sadness—I wanted to rip off the stupid mask! I was also on my own because new COVID-19 regulations meant that patients could not be accompanied. It’s beyond me how crazy this world has become with all these new rules we must follow for everyone’s safety (but that’s a whole other story).
After a week of waiting for the inevitable, nothing had changed. Pregnancy tests were still showing positive, yet my symptoms had almost disappeared completely. The next scan, at nine weeks gestation, confirmed that our little pea had indeed died—my body just hadn’t caught up yet. I’d had a “missed miscarriage,” something I had never even heard of before. I felt totally numb.
I was then medically induced into miscarriage. What followed were, honestly, some of the worst days of my life.
I went through not only the physical pain, but the emotional pain, too. Of course, I had all the usual doubts and shame: “What did I do wrong? What’s wrong with me?”
Wondering if I was “normal” in everything I was experiencing, I began to read articles from women who had similar experiences. I was so grateful that some women were sharing. These experiences need to be talked about so others don’t feel so alone when the darkness overrides. It really helped my process.
No one and nothing could’ve prepared me for those days, not that it would have helped ease any of the pain. I went deep into the void and allowed myself to be there. For some days, I could do nothing but be horizontal with the occasional trip to the bathroom. I am beyond grateful for my partner who held me in every moment. He allowed me to feel and be as he stood strong and graceful. In the rare moments that his tears came, we held each other.
On reflection, I am so grateful that I’ve taken wisdom from plant medicine journeys that assisted me on this journey—breathing into the pain, making the whole experience a meditation in itself, allowing the tears to be sacred, and trusting the process. This kind of clearing felt healing.
I found in the week after being induced, I was the most present I’ve ever been in my life. I had to be still in every moment and let everything else go completely—the need to show up for others, the planning, the doing, the everything. I was forced into complete stillness and being, into holding myself the way I hold others. And I allowed myself to be held. To receive without having to give anything in return. There were so many lessons in total surrender.
After a week of my body purging, I had another scan to make sure it was all clear. Luckily it was, so I got to avoid surgery. Thank you body!
The process is still unraveling.
My body feels tender. We feel raw. We’re still in the midst of processing it all. Despite the pain, we count our blessings every day—for health, for life, for community, and for love. We trust the timing of our lives. We learned some lessons on the journey and will hold this moment close to our hearts, always.
In time, I know we will heal and understand it all. We lit a candle to honour the passing of our little peanut. Our hearts go out to all the little ones who never made it Earth-side and to their mamas and papas. Through this experience, we learned even deeper compassion and wisdom that will be carried for life.
Healing through darkness brings even greater light. In the end, we only have gratitude for this crazy and wonderful life.